Survivor
by Jinxed-Wood
Summary: Nina had always told herself that she was strong, a born survivor...


**Disclaimer:** **Being Human belongs to the Beeb, all hail the almighty Beeb…  
**

* * *

She sat on the edge of the bath and felt her eyes fill up as she looked at her scored flesh. There hadn't been much bleeding, but the skin had been broken and the wound was a raw red, infection had set in.

She was infected.

Nina had always told herself that she was strong, a born survivor. But this wasn't like the last time; this wasn't just bad men doing bad things.

_It looks so painful._

She wanted someone to blame, someone to scream at, but it wasn't Georges fault, anymore than it was hers. It was just life being a bitch and, while you can rail against fate all you want, you can't actually make it say sorry.

She pulled down her sleeve, stood up, and went to the sink. She wetted her face and caught her reflection in the mirror as she straightened. "Hi there," she told herself. "I'm Nina, the bloody werewolf of Bristol, and how are you today?" She felt the tears well up again, blurring her vision, and she quickly blinked them away. She had to climb down those steps in a few moments, and she needed to keep her head high.

She spotted the first aid box on the window, and mentally kicked herself. She was a bloody medical professional, for God's sake, treating her wound should have been the first thing she did. For a brief moment, she wondered if there'd been some chance she could have cleaned the wound in time, prevented herself from being infected, but something told her that it didn't really work like that.

Nina opened the box, and noted the gauze, disinfectant, and iodine inside it. Most household first aid boxes barely carried a few band aids and aspirin. She suspected that the well stocked plastic box in front of her said a lot about this house.

She picked up the small scissors, and started cutting lengths.

* * *

They were giggling and talking, and seated around the kitchen table, when she descended the steps. Annie had her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, and Mitchell was munching down a bowl of cereal. It looked so normal, but it was anything but.

"Nina," Annie said, bouncing up from her seat. "Come here, sit down, I'll make you some tea."

George gave her that shy, half embarrassed smile of his, while Mitchell watched her silently. It was one of the few times she'd ever seen him without a smile on his face.

"Feeling better?" George asked, hopefully, and Mitchell suddenly started studying the contents of his bowl. He knew, Nina could feel it in her bones…but he hadn't told George yet. Was he waiting for her to say it first?

"I'm fine," she said, giving George a reassuring smile as she sat down beside him.

A cup of tea appeared in front of her, and Nina glanced at Annie as she sat down beside her. A ghost had just made her tea, and she didn't have the heart to tell her she actually preferred coffee.

"So," Annie said, as a silence fell on the table. "That was mental, wasn't it? Mad vampire conspiracy and all that. Glad that's over." George frowned at her, and Mitchell grinned.

"Yes, Annie, thanks for that," George said. "I think Nina already has a good grasp on the situation."

"All right, no need to snap," Annie said, teasingly. "When do you start back at work, Mitchell?" Mitchell shrugged, and Nina watched, fascinated, as he shovelled another spoon of cornflakes into his mouth.

"You're always eating," she said suddenly. "Do you actually need to eat, or is it just habit?"

Mitchell glanced up at her. "A body needs fuel," he said briefly.

Nina nodded. "Yeah, but—"

George interrupted. "Uh, Nina, I don't think this is really suitable conversation for the breakfast table."

"Oh, I don't know, seems a valid question," Mitchell said, with a shrug. "It's a ratio thing. The less blood a vampire drinks, the more food they eat, and vice versa. I don't know if I truly need food, but I do get hungry." As if proving his point, he stood up and grabbed the cereal box, refilling his bowl.

George pushed back his chair. "Want me to walk you home?" he asked quietly.

Nina looked down at her hands, they were beginning to shake. She had a funny feeling she was going to fall apart any moment now, and she didn't want be here when it happened. "Yeah, I'd like that," she admitted.

George stood, and went to get their jackets, and she caught a silent glance that ran between Annie and Mitchell, before she disappeared without even a pop. A moment later, she heard Annie's voice talking to George in the other room; no doubt distracting him.

"Is this where I get the chat?" she asked dryly.

"You've been infected," he said, keeping his voice low. "I think you already know that. We need a game plan."

"We," she echoed.

"You didn't think we'd let you go through this on you own, did you?" Mitchell said, with a small smile. "But I'm guessing from the fact that you haven't told George yet, that you've already figured out that he can't really handle this today. Go home, get some rest, and come back tomorrow. I'll lay the land. I've had a lot of practice at giving him bad news recently." And, just like that, she was part of the club. Making plans, and pretending to be human.

"Bugger," she said. "Bugger, bugger, bugger. You know, I always knew there was something strange about the two of you. I even thought you were shagging, at one point – can we go back to that? At least the imagery was good."

He grinned mischievously. "Can I tell George that?"

She sat, bolt upright. "Don't you dare!"

"Oh, c'mon, just to see his face—"

The beaded curtain clattered, and George poked his head through. "Right, we good to go, then?" he asked.

Mitchell waggled his eyebrows. "Depends on what you mean."

George blinked. "Huh?"

Never mind him, let's go," Nina said hastily, as she grabbed her coat from George's hands and hurried to the front door. Annie waved from the couch, and gave her a sad smile. Mitchell may not have told George, but Annie definitely knew.

"See you tomorrow, yeah?" the ghost said.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Nina said as she opened the door.

"Are you okay?" George asked, as he stepped onto the pavement beside her. "I mean, I know you aren't okay - obviously you aren't okay - I mean, you've just discovered that there are vampires, and werewolves, and gh—"

"George," she said, cutting him off. "It's okay, all right? Just walk me home." She caught his hand, and he gave her a small smile.

"So, does that mean that we're okay?" he asked, giving her hand a squeeze.

She looked up at his uncertain face. "Yeah," she said, eventually. "I think we are, weirdly enough."

"Oh, right, that's okay, then."

Nina nudged her arm with his. "C'mon," she said. "Onward bound."

**FINIS**


End file.
